You Love Me, Don't You?
by firstadream
Summary: "Do you love me?" Booth shows up at Brennan's door in the middle of the night on the eve of their departures. Will they finally admit their feelings for each other? B/B angst and love.


**So I know that this story or some version of this story has basically been beaten into the ground at this point, but my B/B, season finale angst muse came a-knocking and I couldn't say no. So here it is. My take on the last night that Booth and Brennan are together.**

_You Love Me, Don't You?_

It was the middle of the night when Brennan heard the knock at her door. She rolled over in bed, disoriented, a tinge of fear creeping into her sleep-hazed brain. Knocks in the middle of the night meant gunshots. Hospitals. _Death_. Stumbling out of bed, she hurried to the door and pulled it open, revealing an extremely disheveled Booth.

He was leaning against the doorjamb. His hair was rumpled and messy as if he'd been running his fingers through it. His eyes were glassy, his mouth frowning. He looked drunk. Drunk and sad. "Hey, Bones," he said, in a rough, husky voice that, for some reason, made Brennan want to touch him. Any part of him. His hand, his cheek, his foot.

"Booth," she said, running her eyes along his body. His rumbled dress shirt, tie askew. "It's three o'clock in the morning."

He nodded. Smiled slightly. "I know."

She sighed, wondering what to do. "Do you want to come in?" she finally asked.

He nodded again and she moved aside so he could step past her. He made his way over to her couch and sank into the cushions. His head fell back. His eyes fixed on the ceiling. She sat beside him and watched him as he stared upwards. "What are you doing here, Booth?" she asked tiredly.

He turned his head towards her, but didn't lift it from the back of the couch. "I wanted to see you," he said. "Before you run off to Mabooky to dig up bones and I ship off to Afghanistan to train boys how to kill."

"It's Maluku, Booth," she corrected him automatically.

He sighed and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "You know, Bones, I couldn't care less where you're going." His tone was sad and bitter. It made her chest ache.

"You couldn't?" she asked softly, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. She hated that she cared so much.

"No," he said bluntly. He lifted his head suddenly and leaned towards her. She could smell the scotch on his breath, see the dark in his eyes. "I just know you're going." His gaze dipped downward, scanning the familiar contours of her face. When he met her eye again, she saw nothing but hurt, cold and scolding. "I just know you're running."

She flinched away from his accusing tone. "I'm not running, Booth. I'm an anthropologist. This is what I do."

He leaned closer to her, but she kept her face turned away. "You're Bones," he told her. "My Bones. And you're running away from me."

"I'm not," she said, whirling to face him. His face was right there. His eyes, his cheeks, his lips. "I'm not," she said again, this time softly. Low and melancholy.

He shook his head, but didn't contradict her outright. He lifted his hand and rested his finger between her eyes. Pressed gently until the lines of worry evened out. Trailed it downwards and tapped the tip of her nose. "I don't want you to go," he admitted as his finger fell away from her face.

She swallowed. "You'll be fine," she said. "You'll miss me and I'll miss you and we'll both be fine." Her tone was hard, defiant almost, like she needed her words to be true just as much as he did.

He shook his head. "I don't want to miss you. I want to have you. All of you."

She tensed her jaw. Ignored the shiver that pervaded her body. He leaned closer—so close that she could feel his breath against her face. His eyes flickered and darkened and then all at once, he crumpled before her. "Don't go, Bones. Please don't go," he breathed. She watched tears fill his tired eyes and leak down his cheeks. "Please stay with me. Please, Bones…"

She shook her head. "Booth," she whispered and that was all. Just his name. Her lower lip trembled. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to hold him. She wanted him to hold her. She didn't want to cry.

She lifted her hands and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, felt her cool fingers against his cheeks. She held his face between her hands for a moment. Felt his stubble scratching her palms. "You need to shave," she murmured, just because it was something to say. He opened his eyes. The ghost of a smile stirred in his face and he wrapped his arms around her trembling body. Pulled her close.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered into her hair. "I don't want to leave you."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Clung to him tighter. He kissed her hair—it was his turn to comfort and for once she let him. Let herself fall into him, lose herself in his warmth and his smell. Let him hug her and kiss her and protect her. What was the point of pushing him away now? On the eve of a goodbye that, from where she was standing, seemed to stretch on into a lifetime. "I don't want to leave you either," she finally admitted into his shoulder.

He nodded and bowed his head forward. Pressed his cheek to the top of her head. Breathed her in. She lifted her head ever so slightly and stared up into his face. Watched him lean toward her. Watched his lips part. Watched his face blur.

Felt his mouth. Warm and soft and familiar against her own.

He kissed her and she let him. What was the point of pushing him away now? She parted her lips and let her mind go fuzzy. Let herself fall into the kiss she always knew she could lose herself in. He pulled her tight against his broad chest. Traced her lower lip with his tongue. Made her whimper and moan and run her fingers through his already disheveled hair. He picked her up and she wound her legs around his waist. Kissed him and kissed him and kissed him and was glad to give her grief away, to give it to him.

She landed against her bed with a whoosh and a gasp and she didn't know if the noise was his or hers. She just knew that he was there with her and that she loved his weight against her, the scratch of his stubble along her neck, the way she whispered her name like it was a secret—_his _secret.

"Do you love me?"

The words came to her slowly. His voice sounded far away. "What?" she breathed.

"Do you love me?" he asked again, this time clearer, louder. She couldn't wish it away.

She stilled in his arms. Pressed a hand to his chest. She opened her mouth and closed it. He rolled away and she stood up. Walked halfway to the door. "Why did you ask me that, Booth?"

She could feel his sadness, his confusion, his desperation like pressure on her neck, a shiver across her skin. "I don't know," he said.

"Don't do that," she said and her voice wobbled. "Don't ask me that. Don't make me say that."

For one halting moment, stillness and silence surrounded her. She could feel it like a blanket wrapped tight around her. Then it was gone and he was there instead. She heard him stand up and walk over to her. He rested his hand against her waist. "You do, don't you?"

"Booth, please," she said.

He pressed closer to her. Pulled her back against his body, his hand splayed across her stomach. "Tell me you love me," he breathed into her ear.

She leaned back against him. "I won't," she said.

He blew out a long breath against her neck and watched goose bumps rise along her skin. "Tell me," he said. It wasn't a demand this time. It was a plea.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. Her face was earnest. She rocked onto her toes and pressed a long, deep kiss to his lips. "No, Booth."

He sighed and loosened his grip on her. His face was pained. He ran his hands up her sides and back down to her waist. He kissed her forehead and stepped away. Turned away. "Booth." He stopped. "Would you…" He looked back at her. "Would you stay with me?"

He looked at her—hair in disarray, cheeks flushed, eyes sad—and knew he could never say no. "Of course," he said and walked back to her.

She rested her hands against his chest as he drew her into his embrace. He kissed the corner of her mouth and lifted her shirt up and over her head. Wordlessly, he laid her bare. Wordlessly, he pushed her back against the bed. Wordlessly, he lay down on top of her, hovered over her. "You love me," he told her.

She kissed him and arched into him, wanting to feel this new, raw version of him. "You love me," she told him right back.

He kissed her neck and traced the perfect angle of her collarbone with his fingertip. He had never felt so close to her or so far away. "I miss you already," he said.

—BB—

"I have something for you," he told her. They were the first words he had spoken to her in hours. It was morning now and they were lying in her bed, curled around each other.

She lifted her head from his chest. "What is it?"

He leaned over to get his pants off the ground. He pulled something from the pocket and pressed it into her hand. "Your St. Christopher medal," she said softly, running her finger over the familiar, metallic disc.

"I want you to have it," he told her.

She lifted her eyes to his face. "I thought you gave it to Jared."

"He gave it back when he came home. Said he didn't need it anymore." He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "It kept him safe. It'll keep you safe too."

She frowned. "It's irrational to put faith in an object, Booth."

He smiled. "Because objects have no intrinsic power, right? Because things are just things? They don't have any magical power or meaning? They don't hold any sway over a person's future? Is that what you were going to say, Bones?"

A memory, called back from a lifetime ago, stirred in her. "Yes, exactly," she said.

He shook his head. Brushed the hair out of her face. "I thought I disproved that little theory of yours a long time ago."

"Old habits die hard, I guess," she said quietly. He nodded. "But I do remember, Booth."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

"Then take it, Bones. Keep it with you. For me."

"I will." She pressed closer to him. Kissed his jaw. "I promise." She felt desperate and sad, like a clock was ticking somewhere, counting down the moments until she lost him. She wanted to tell him that she…She wanted him to know that she…

"Don't die, okay?" she breathed, hoping he would understand. She was afraid it was the best she could do.

He nodded. He understood. "I won't. I promise."

She nodded too and swallowed the grief in her throat. "Do you have to go?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I can stay for a little longer."

"Good," she said. She didn't think she could bear him going yet. She thought about him leaving. She thought about saying goodbye and not seeing his face for a year. Not hearing his voice. Not feeling his arms. Not smelling his smell. It made her want to cry. It made her want to stay there, in his arms, forever. She pressed her face into his chest. Closed her eyes. "Just hold me, okay?"

He nodded. He understood. "Okay."

**Like it? Hate it? Press that magic button and let me know! :)**


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